


Only if for a night (and the only solution was to stand and fight)

by MorganBartonRomanoff



Series: Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Mission Fic, Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Past Mind Control, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers (2012), Strike Team Delta, The Avengers (2012) Compliant, blink and you'll miss it tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganBartonRomanoff/pseuds/MorganBartonRomanoff
Summary: Aliens used to be a joke during missions. Now, aliens were the mission. They had crossed a line somewhere without noticing and there was no going back from this.(Or, a then and now, featuring aliens.)Part Two of my Natasha Romanov Bingo; Square filled - Aliens
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov
Series: Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653973
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Natasha Bingo





	Only if for a night (and the only solution was to stand and fight)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 by [natasharomanovbingo](https://natasharomanovbingo.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title from Florence + The Machine's "Only If For A Night"

“What would you do if you could know only for one night that aliens existed?”

Natasha groaned inwardly. It was a really bad time for one of Clint’s existential crises, in the middle of a mission, perched on a roof right across the street, supposedly watching her every move through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows with a sniper in his hands. She ducked her head, letting a wave of her dark brown wig fall over the left side of her face and hide even further the tiny earpiece transmitting her partner’s stupid question.  
  
“This is ridiculous. I don’t want to play your games, I’m actually busy,” she murmured as she turned a corner and entered a restricted area, heels clicking rhythmically on the pristine white tiles.  
  
“Aw, Tasha, come on.” From the way he drawled it, his southern accent getting more prominent, she could hear his desperation for entertainment, any kind, and with their boss on a third end of their conversation, one of his best options was unfortunately off limits.  
  
“ _Barton, you do know what lookout means, don’t you_?” _Think of the devil_ , Natasha smiled.  
  
“I’m being quiet! And observant,” Clint argued.  
  
“You’re really not. You don’t even have a visual on me.” He couldn’t, as she was currently in a closed off laboratory with no windows in sight.  
  
“Come on, answer the question. It’s fun.”  
  
“Not for me.” She took out the brand new decoder and the small flash drive (the black one, not the silver one) out of her lab coat pocket, plugging them one after the other in the main computer and getting on with the task at hand as quickly as possible.  
  
“Nat.” He wasn’t giving up, then. She clenched her teeth and concluded that the only way to get him off her back would be just playing along for a little while, long enough to satisfy his inquiry and shut him up.  
  
“Probably find out how to take them out,” was her logical answer. That’s what her life had been all about so far, what it most likely would be for the foreseeable future. Taking out potential threats before they could take out someone else, probably her.  
  
“Really?” He actually sounded surprised, like he hadn’t seen that coming.  
  
“Were you expecting something different?” The line was nearing the end. 87%. 88%.  
  
“Uh, yeah! Sneak into their spaceship, try to talk to them, exchange planet trivia. You know, fun stuff!” She could hear him shuffling, most likely waking his legs.

“ _I don’t like this topic_ ,” Coulson declared, and both agents snorted.  
  
“Well I am going to have fun. Sneak into their spaceship if I have to, talk to them with my fists and, or guns and exchange planet trivia. I’ll find out what colour they bleed and they’ll learn some Russian profanities before I kill them.” She pulled out both drives out of the computer and watched as the screen began flickering. Beautiful. She had five minutes to get out. She checked her watch as she dropped the devices in her pocket, clinking them with the other one.  
  
“ _Agents_.” Coulson sounded admittedly defeated, exasperated and amused, all in one.  
  
“We’re working,” they shot back simultaneously.

“ _You’re not convincing. Romanoff, what did you just do?_ ”

“You got incoming, Tasha, swerve,” Clint warned her as both of them ignored their handler. He was typing furiously on his keyboard, looking for a way in the system.

“You better get out of there, Coulson, I left them a present. Anyway, hopefully, I can do all _that_ from a distance. Who knows what they’d be able to do. What about you? You must have had a point with that stupid question.” She took a different route, a flight of stairs down, and across the window-filled hallway again, making sure her partner had a clear shot.  
  
“Firstly, ouch. Secondly, hell yeah. I’d find the leader, seduce him or her or them or whatever alien pronoun they use, and convince them to ally with me against all circuses that still keep wild animals in captivity.” _Typical_ , Natasha mused. _Very typical._  
  
“ _Noble. Romanoff, did you get the data?_ ” She ignored Coulson yet again, steadying her pace and standing straighter like a ‘scientist of her position’ would.  
  
“Thought you didn’t approve, Coulson,” Clint continued his conversation.  
  
“ _I don’t. Still noble. And stupid_. _Romanoff?_ ” She didn’t answer to that, instead she took out her phone and shook her head as she passed a pair of assistants, like she was reading a text.

“Very stupid. You’d be dead in less than five minutes.”

“What?” Her partner squawked. ”You doubting my seduction skills now? Take a left here. You didn’t think so las--”

“ _Romanoff, do you have the intel?_ ”

“Can I get out of here first,” she hissed through a locked jaw.

“Uh...” Clint trailed off, panic seeping into his voice like water into cotton. “Might wanna hurry. Hurry a lot. They’re right on top of you, armed and steadily marching your way.”

“Got my back?”

“Always. Sorry, boss, we gotta go. See you at home.” Clint disconnected Coulson’s end and focused the optics on Natasha. “Just say the word, Nat.”

“Not yet.” They would block the staircases and, if she didn’t hurry, the exits too. They most likely had eyes on the security feed too.

“Hey, you deleted that shit, right?”

“’Course. Left a pretty Trojan, it should do the job nicely. I’m changing.” She entered a bathroom and after a quick perimeter check to see if she was alone, took out the pair of fake glasses from the other pocket and all three flash drives and stuffed them in her bra. She took off the wig, wrapped it in the lab coat and dropped it in the trash. Natasha swept her hair up in a ponytail and took out the knife from her thigh holster.

“Hurry, Nat.” She hummed and cut her pencil skirt shorter, adding a slit to the side, slid the knife back in its place and put the glasses on, and then she was out.

Three minutes later, she was in the spring afternoon Montreal air.

A block down, her partner joined her with a guitar case slung over his shoulder and an arm over hers.

“Coulson won’t be happy,” he told her like she didn’t already know that.

“I know. But I’d rather get in trouble because of a little mix up than let anyone have an almost fully developed biological weapon.”

He beamed down at her and landed a kiss on her temple.

“Seriously, though,” she sighed. “Aliens?”

His laughter boomed down the street.

-

Two days ago, they had fought actual, outer-space aliens. It hadn’t been a painkiller induced hallucination, it hadn’t been one of those ridiculous nightmares, it had been real. And norse gods, couldn’t forget those. The world had suddenly become a much more dangerous place, not that it had been safe before the battle of New York had happened.

And they… their faces were everywhere. They could no longer hide in the shadows or do their jobs. They were practically useless. Celebrity spies. A joke.

They’d won the battle, sure. But there was so much they had lost. Coulson… Coulson was gone. Clint’s mind was still messed up, waking him up in the middle of the night with terrifying images playing before his eyes even when he startled back to consciousness. The entirety of New York damaged, thousands of lives lost, hundreds of buildings destroyed.

Some called them heroes. Others saw them for what they were, a group of weirdos placed in the middle of the chaos, ordered to deal with it all without actually knowing _how_.

And then they were dismissed, like obedient pets, leaving for someone else to pick up the pieces. It was a relief, though, and Natasha hated herself for feeling that way.

The Avengers had split up, and Strike Team Delta was taking a personal leave until they were assigned a new handler, according to Fury. In truth, they were on the road, trying to heal that gaping hole left by Coulson’s death. By Loki.

There was a small yacht in the Miami harbour they had hired a few hours ago for the next two weeks. They’d talked about where they would go, but settling down in one place for more than a few days seemed impossible, not under these circumstances, so the boat had been the agreement they had reached somewhere halfway through South Carolina.

A motel room would have to do for the night, however.

The bed creaked loudly when Clint sat on it, leaning back on his palms. Natasha could see the tension stretched tightly across his shoulders, etched in every muscle down his arms and up his neck.

She stepped between his legs and threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing his head to her stomach. His arms rose up to wrap around her middle, bringing her closer. It would be a rough night. It would be a rough more than one night. But they would handle it.

A thought darted through Natasha’s head and she chuckled.

“What,” her partner croaked.

“Remember Montreal,” she asked, tone teasing, tugging on a strand of hair. He winced, and then groaned. He did remember.

“Fuck Montreal.”

“Yeah,” she couldn’t help but agree. It felt like so long ago, it was so long ago. But it was like an embarrassing memory, leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth.

Fuck Montreal.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [ohwriteiforgot](https://ohwriteiforgot.tumblr.com)


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